A Battle of Psyche
by Arianna Waters
Summary: Different sides of her personality shine through for different people, and the worst part is that Walburga has no control over it. [WARNING: Themes of child abuse and a hint of multiple personality disorder]


_This fic is dedicated to Dark Doves, the current-favourites of Kim, the Grandma. A lover-dover's spat between my beloved wife Lucy and I led to this weird fetish ;)_

o~

 **A Battle of Psyche**

As she gazed at herself in the mirror, Walburga didn't see the banshee her oldest child believed her to be, nor the angel her youngest saw. In there was her wild black hair, the slightest of wrinkles around her eyes—not laugh lines, because her eyes never smiled when her painted lips curled out of an obligation—and a pretty, porcelain face. What had, twelve years ago, been the image of a perfect bride, and was now a trophy wife, stood behind the mirror.

She was both what her children thought, and she was neither. She was the illusion that floated on Orion's arm in the parties, and she was the claw that gripped him in an iron-fist and guided him in the background. She was too much, and she was nothing. She was different—it was true, every member of her family thought of her as different, and she couldn't shatter the images each held in their minds even if she tried. She had no control over it.

Pushing the swirling thoughts out of her mind, she brushed her locks to a sheen and dusted some powder onto her cheeks. She was ready to live up to each one of her personalities.

She descended the stairs, her spine straight, chin up, and each step immaculate, and her sandals tapped the way to the dining table. Seated across from the head of the table, she waited as the food appeared on her plate—she took the slightest bit of pride in Kreacher's efficiency—and started eating, each movement graceful.

No one spoke at the table, as always, and it fit well with all of her images. The perfect, yet intelligent housewife; the doting mother; the heartless control freak. Each aura was a part of her.

The food finished, she wiped her hands and tapped her mouth with a tissue as she waited for the others to put their cutlery down. Then, she got to her feet.

"Sirius, I wish to converse with you." The boy lost the little colour he had in his face as he stood and followed her clicking heels to the private study to the side, a morose expression seemingly permanently etched onto his face.

She sat before the desk, motioning for the boy to take a seat in front. "Gryffindor? _Gryffindor?_ " The boy gazed down, his eyes filled with unshed tears. "Explain, Sirius."

He looked up at her cool tone. "I swear I didn't do it willingly, Mother. The Hat—"

Walburga clicked her tongue. "Your cheer once the Hat gave its verdict said otherwise." She knew that from Narcissa's tattling.

Sirius turned, impossibly, even paler. "I—I promise I'll be good, M-Mother. P-Please don't p-punish m-me."

To a part of her mind, he sounded pathetic, even as a different part yearned to stand up and hug him close to her heart. Yet, it seemed she herself had no control over how she acted. "The damage has been done, though. Irreversibly so, hasn't it, Sirius?" She felt her lips curling. "Your hand, Sirius."

He whimpered, incoherent pleadings tearing from his mouth. Walburga drew her wand and snapped, "Your hand!"

Ever so slowly, an arm was extended towards her. She grabbed at it, her nails digging into his wrist, and tugged, forcing the boy to step around the table, to her side. In a babyish voice that suddenly came onto her, she continued, "For that irrevocable damage, there have to be some similar repercussions, you understand?" And with that, she pressed her wand into his hand, a perfect hole burning through. The smell of flesh permeated the air, and his screams echoed in the room, silence wards preventing them from going beyond the walls.

She smiled at him, taking the wand off and pressing it again at another place, an inch away from the burn. "And this is for not obeying the orders to return home at Christmas. There will always be an interest on delayed punishment, no?" She removed the wand for a second time and placed it on the table. Tugging the boy closer to her, she whispered through clenched teeth, "To make sure you know running away wouldn't do you any favours."

His cries had stopped, and he glowered at her through his bangs. She pushed them away and picked her wand again, waving it to make the burns invisible. She didn't heal them, though—the pain would make for a good reminder.

"Now, off you go."

The boy gave her another glare, even though it was ruined by how he was shaking like a leaf and that tear tracks shone on his cheeks, and stormed out.

Walburga waited for a moment, sighing, as she pressed her fingers to her temple. Now, the act done, it felt all wrong. But that part of her needed an outlet, and there was no stopping it from coming out in front of Sirius. Then she stood, and at a more sedate pace, she strode out, climbing the way to her other son's room.

The closed door opposite her destination relieved her, as it always did. She didn't want to burn Sirius' heart even more so. Pushing Sirius out of her mind, she knocked the door which held a plaque saying 'R.A.B.' in shaky, green letters. It would be replaced in a couple years at most, Walburga knew, but right now, she couldn't help but love it just a little.

The door swung open, revealing the smiling face of her now ten-year-old son. They both knew he was way too old for bedtime stories, but it was their time, and the portion of her brain reserved for Regulus wouldn't allow her to stop the routine until the boy wishes for her to.

She ruffled his locks, guiding him to the bed as she walked. Sitting on the mattress, she held out her hand for the book he knew he had picked out already, like he did every night. Sure enough, a copy of _Tabata the Teller_ was pressed into her hand, and Regulus jumped into the bed, snuggling into her side. "Can we read _The First Werewolf_ today?"

"You won't get afraid?" Walburga teased.

" _Mother_ ," Regulus whined, then grinned. "You're here, and they're just filthy half-breeds." She smiled down at him at that. Her youngest had learned the lessons well.

"True enough." With that, she opened the correct page and started reading.

* * *

An hour later, as Walburga made her way to the room she shared with her husband after listening to the wireless for a while, ready to play the part of a seductive wife, she paused at the landing near the children's rooms. She could just make out the sounds of them arguing—Sirius was calling her a monster, and Regulus protested he couldn't understand why the older boy thought so; that she was the best mother ever.

Walburga felt her heart constrict. Despite everything, despite Sirius' rebellion and Regulus' fierce desire to please, she had no wish to treat her sons so differently that they argued about who she really was. Yet, as she had found nearly a decade back, she had no control over which side of her personality came through for whom, and Walburga had learned to live with it.

~oOo~

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ _Before someone yells at me, I know how multiple personality disorder works, and this is not it. It's a different world, that of the wizards, and there's so much we do not know of. I kinda sorta might have made this disorder for the wizards/witches… say, a magic-i-fied version of MPD._

QL Prompts (Round 12, Falcons Beater 2): _two-faced or behaves differently around two people, (word) morose, (emotion) anger_


End file.
